Perfectly Alien
by SignatureDish
Summary: Megatron can't believe his optics when the Allspark not only intervenes with a certain fleshy's demise, but changes him into a sparkling in the middle of a glitchin' secret lab! Never one to sit by and watch, our Decepticon leader must ensure the survival of his new protégé- through any means necessary.
1. PROLOGUE

**Hello everyone! I thought I'd take a crack at sparkling!harry with a twist, so let's see how far I go!**

**Disclaimer: Don't own Transformers or Harry Potter.**

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"But Dad!" Dudley whined loudly, following after his parent as the man loaded two more bags into the car. "I'm going to miss my shows on that dumb plane!"

Once of his favorite television shows would be playing their newest episode in just three hours, and Dudley had been waiting impatiently all week for the episode.

Vernon didn't seem to have heard him, mumbling darkly to himself without pause. He had been tense all morning, growling over the traffic, paranoid security, and foreigners. All of which they would have to endure by the end of the day.

Petunia answered instead of Vernon, a chipper smile on her gaunt face. She needed to appear as happy as possible, seeing as the two men of the house were too troubled by obstacles to be excited over the prospect of their travels.

"Don't you worry, pumpkin. Mummy made sure to have us leave during the beginning of the week, so you have plenty of time to watch the reruns when we come back." She assured, patting down his wispy blond hair, and herding him gently into the car.

"What about lunch?" He moaned, collapsing limply in his seat and making the car tilt ever so slightly. Petunia wasted no time buckling the huge child in as he did so, stretching over his bulging belly to force the seatbelt across.

"I'll starve before we get to America!"

Vernon tossed a few more bags into the trunk before shuffling to the driver's seat. He hadn't closed any doors or even finished packing the car, but his face was bright red and he was panting very heavily.

Petunia's lip quivered as Dudley continued to complain about food, turning to Vernon for assistance.

"Is there any way we can pack food for our flight? My little Dudders shouldn't have to suffer for our vacation." She cried, and the man's mustache twitched thoughtfully.

From experience he knew that the meals on planes were tiny and cheap, not nearly enough to keep a grown man like himself satisfied. His son inherited the same like for things of class, only the best would fit his palate.

Perhaps he could smuggle a few donuts in his coat? What could security do anyway? Arrest him for feeding his son? These days it seemed like the government was going out of its way to inconvenience him.

"How about this, son," The large man decided, his breath still heavy with exertion. "When we get to America, the first thing we'll do is take you to the finest restaurant. You can order as much as you like, the Americans know just how to serve a man." He promised, and Dudley was silent for over five minutes, mulling it over in his thick head.

As the family dealt with these trials, the things they left unfinished were fixed for them.

The door Petunia left wide open was shut and locked, the bags Vernon left on the porch were loaded inside the car, the food wrappers Dudley had spilled all around the car were plucked and thrown away.

Once everything was finished and ready, a boy opened the car's side door and hopped in.

He looked nothing like his family, the Dursleys. Not morbidly obese as Vernon and Dudley were, or long-necked and beady-eyed as Petunia was. He had shaggy black hair, glasses with more tape than wire, and bright green eyes.

The Dursleys ignored the boy, watching Dudley nervously as he continued to think about the deal Vernon had offered. If the boy rejected it, than they were in for a loud tantrum all the way across the ocean.

Finally, Dudley's slack face pulled taut enough to make a vague expression and he nodded slowly. Sated, the spoiled boy dug through the bag sitting next to him, and pulled out a game console. Ignoring his parents with ease, he began to play, jabbing at the buttons and watched the tiny screen avidly.

Petunia and Vernon grinned fondly at each other, relief in their eyes as they turned back around to face the street. As Petunia clicked her own seatbelt, Vernon looked back once more, this time glancing at the bespectacled boy instead of his son.

"Did you get everything, boy?" He demanded shortly, and Harry nodded quickly. He tried to adjust himself to look more respectful, pushing his glasses higher up his nose and brushing his bangs out of his eyes. However, this approach only seemed to encourage the man's disdain.

Flicking an eye over his ratty clothes and dirty face, Vernon sneered in disgust before turned back and starting the car. Despite being the one to give him most of his belongings, Harry's uncle always judged his appearance as though it were Harry's fault, always found it poor and troublesome.

The car spluttered to life, wheezing sadly as it began to pull the weight of the unhealthy family out of the driveway. Its tires sank low into the asphalt, its seats creaked, its engine whined. Though expensive, the car had a hard time pulling such burdens across the roads.

Harry turned to face the window, glad Dudley had placed his bag of video games between them. Now the boy wouldn't be able to punch and prod him during the ride, forever distracted as soon as his greedy eyes skimmed over his possessions.

He watched as the neighborhood whisked by, as they left the residential area in a flash. Harry thought he would see Privet Drive in five days, and didn't bother looking back once it had passed his side window.

Then again, if Harry had known it would be the last time he saw that house, he doubted he would have looked back anyway.

Harry hated his life on Privet Drive, his existence that revolved around pleasing his rude and mean relatives. He was tired of gardening, washing, mopping, scrubbing, and starving all the while.

He even had dreams of leaving that house behind for as long as he could remember. Of course, these dreams usually included a mysterious relative that loved him as no one else ever had.

Harry never could have imagined that he would miss Privet Drive, especially if he knew he would never see it again. But then again, Harry never could have imagined anything that would happen to him once they landed in America.

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**And that's my prologue! It's all set-up, so you really don't have to review. I do enjoy a good Follow, though!**


	2. Chapter 1

**Hello again! Here's chapter one- I should have attached this to the prologue, they're both a little small...**

**Disclaimer: See PROLOGUE**

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On the second day in America, Petunia wanted to see the Hoover Dam. She wanted to take pictures of the large monument and send them to her friends to gloat, they had signed up for the free tour along with their tickets after all. Vernon argued that they should save the trip for last and go to Las Vegas. Dudley wanted to stay in the arcade he had discovered while glancing out the window as his rented movie was loading. They had already gone to the biggest restaurant they could find in the area, and obese child had lost any sense of exploration soon after.

Of course, in the end Petunia won, being the craftiest of the family. She promised to buy Dudley all the souvenirs from Hoover Dam he wanted, and brought Vernon a large beer to occupy his boredom. Harry had no say in the matter and simply stayed out of the way.

He had already explored the area while the Dursleys had been eating in the restaurant, and saw all he was interested in seeing. Contrary to all the complaints Vernon had, the Americans weren't all completely overweight and sloppy. None were as fat as Dudley and he had only seen two people during the day he had walked around look even remotely bedraggled.

Harry didn't say his findings aloud, having no wish to anger his uncle during the trip. Without a cupboard to lock him into, the Durlseys had been forced to put up with his presence in the sitting room, where he was sleeping. Everyone else got their own room, but that was expensive enough without paying for a useless comfort for Harry. He didn't mind, though, the couch was much bigger than his cot at home. He could also eat whenever he wanted, seeing as they couldn't lock him away from the kitchen and room service leftovers.

It had been a while since Harry had eaten breakfast before the Dursleys, and he found himself enjoying the vacation almost as much as they were. So in relatively good spirits, Harry pressed himself against the side of the cab and waited until they reached the dam, dodging Dudleys chubby fists and jiggling legs.

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"Now please watch yourself, people. Keep all hands and feet inside the vehicle during this part of the tour. The dam is over seven hundred feet- that's a long way down." The tour guide whistled, driving the bus full of tourists slowly over the dam.

Petunia was twittering in excitement, snapping photo after photo of the sparkling blue water and the great heights below them on the other side. Uncle Vernon and Dudley appeared unable to care less, gazing up at the faded ceiling of the bus with equal levels of boredom. Dudley even seemed to be falling asleep, his small eyes flickering shut every few seconds. The irritated glances the other tourists flashed the two went completely ignored.

Harry leaned over to stare down the dam, fascinated by just how large the monument was. He could see for miles in all directions, the personel trotting by professionally appeared little more than beige ants on cement.

Was this how it felt to be tall? To be powerful? Was this what it was like to look down on the little people below? Harry was small and scrawny for his age, the shortest in his class and thinnest in his school. He had never been able to tower, he had never _not_ needed to crane his head to address adults.

Another bus full of tourists stopped at the foot of the dam, waiting patiently for Harry's bus' turn to end. Though they weren't as small as the officials running the dam, they were small enough that Harry felt comfortable waving to them. He flashed a shy smile as an older woman grinned back, swinging her hand in a little wave of her own.

It was then that it happened, and Harry supposed it had been his fault. He had forgotten that he wasn't supposed to stick his limbs out of the bus and had ignored the safety rules. All it had taken was a sloppy push from Dudley, an annoyed action of violence to get him to be still and stop acting so atrociously happy on _Dudley's_ vacation.

Though Dudley was spoiled rotten and a horrible human being, Harry didn't think the stupid boy had intended to push Harry so hard that he fell out of the bus. There was breaking his glasses and then there was sending him careening off the dam. Then again, even if Harry didn't expect Dudley to commit homicide, he also didn't expect him to ever try assisting him in a life or death situation either, and he wasn't sure if that was much better.

Harry couldn't hear the gasps of shock and screams of terror as he fell from the bridge, the wind buffeting against his ears howled much louder than they ever could. He couldn't feel his huge shirt slip from his torso to bunch around his arms, his skin numbed by the chilled air beating against his body. He didn't notice his glasses slip from his nose to fall away from him in an almost humorous illusion of trying to escape, his eyes were watery and blurry.

He watched as the grey cement hurdled at sickening speeds toward his small body, too surprised to even be afraid.

_So this as how he was going to die_, Harry thought within the fraction of seconds he had left.

He supposed he couldn't complain, it would be relatively painless and he would probably be remembered by the traumatized passengers of the bus for the rest of their lives. It was better than he expected on his most pessimistic days, when he wondered if he would simply die in his cupboard and rot there for all eternity.

Just as he was going to shut his stinging eyes and surrender himself to his fate, something thrummed through his chest like the vibrations of a drum.

A weight pressed against him from all sides, squeezing him tight in a curiously heated embrace. Everything felt tingly and electric, the thrumming struck even stronger, almost stopping his heart. The hold tightened even further, becoming bruising, the pulsing heat grew hotter, the drumming against his skin grew abbraisively intense.

And then Harry blinked, and he wasn't falling from the dam anymore.

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**There we go, more set-up but hopefully a bit more entertaining than the prologue. Don't worry, we'll be seeing our giant alien robots real soon.**


	3. Chapter 2

**Okay, we get some alien action here, but it comes with gore and an f-bomb- just a warning. (rated T for a reason)**

**Someone also asked me why Petunia let Harry come to Hoover Dam. She doesn't trust him not to buy pay-per-views or room service while they were gone.**

**Disclaimer: see PROLOGUE**

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When Harry opened his eyes, he couldn't figure out where he was. He was staring up at a tall, gray ceiling covered in wires, tubes, ladders, and control panels. It was like being inside a space ship, Harry had never seen anything like it before. Had a space ship saved him from hitting the ground? Tearing his eyes away from the ceiling, Harry shifted to stare down at his pseudo bed. Whatever he was sitting on was warm and hard, dipping at random places but remaining relatively flat.

It was a huge, gold platform. Square and decorated in thousands of tiny swirls and jagged stripes. It looked absolutely ancient, covered in dust and gleaming with the dignified pride of age. The heat from the platform had a vibrating, pulsing quality that was very similar to whatever had brought him here.

He sat up, running a hand over the designs reverently, they were so beautiful. Harry had never seen anything like it. Had this thing saved him? Did it have some sort of power? It seemed so mystical and important to Harry he wouldn't be surprised if it did. It almost tickled, the vibrations of power brushing right through him. Harry felt he should have been scared, but it felt too nice to worry about.

"Intruder! We have a breach! Intruder!" Several booming shouts and rushed feet had Harry jumping in alarm. He peeked over the edge of his platform, noting absently that it wasn't just a floating square, but a cube so big it touched the ground from this height. How bizarre, why was it so big?

He was drawn back to the flurry of suits and thunder of feet as people below him scrambled in all directions. Where was he? Why were there so many people? Some were wearing smooth black suits, others had large white coats on, while even more donned strange scrubs and puffy astronaut helmets. Perhaps this _was_ a spaceship? Were they aliens? They looked human to Harry.

"Freeze!" An old man barked aggressively, pointing a shiny black gun directly at Harry. It didn't look much like guns he had seen in Dudley's television shows, too small and modest. However, Harry found that the thin barrel that led to pitch darkness had enough intimidation to stop his heart.

He froze as requested, realizing that they were all scowling and sweating in ways Uncle Vernon did before he hurt Harry badly. Fear trickled down his spine like ice, tapping down his rips and crushing his lungs. He barely breathed, fearing a nervous twitch would bring their wrath down upon him.

"How did- how the _fuck_ did a kid get down here?" One uniformed man shouted in bewilderment, his own gun held askance from Harry's direct position. He was part of the few, however, as most hadn't changed their expression from shocked aggression to confused questioning.

"Not in any way a child could, this is a trap." A grizzled elder snarled, badges decorated his blue coat and flanked by cool black suits. His words rippled through the crowd and Harry chewed on his lip anxiously. Fights with Uncle Vernon had given him the understanding that argument was futile against anger, and only fueled the fire. How could he explain that he wouldn't do whatever they thought he would do, without arguing?

"Keep your guard up, newbies! This 'kid' could be packing heat and strapped to a bomb for all you know." The old man who had ordered Harry to freeze snapped, and those who shifted uneasily trained their weapons back on Harry. Those pitch black barrels and glinting, sharp turns drew him in. He could almost feel the cold metal biting into his skin, freezing and heavy against his fluttering heart.

"What are we going to do, sir? He's sitting on top-secret information!" One white-coated young man squeaked, and Harry glanced down at the pulsing gold cube. It's dark, jagged sigils were coarse and rough under his fingertips. He felt the slightest of static shocks at its touch, licking at his skin and pulling him closer. Was this 'top secret'? Was it some sort of new weapon like in Uncle Vernon's action movies? It didn't feel like a weapon, so grand and meaningful.

In fact Harry felt a sort of indignant at the idea of hiding such a beautiful thing. Who were they to keep something so mysterious and wonderful for themselves? It was certainly far too impressive to sequester away like one of Dudley's prized video games.

"Just drop him off in Brazil, no one would ever believe him." A black suited woman advised, shifting to the old man wearing so many medals. Was he their leader? A few other officers nodded in agreement, and a quarter of the white coated people turned and left without another word. It seemed they had decided even before the old man had spoken, Harry relaxed.

"It would be easier without any witnesses at all." Came the sudden, coarse whisper. Then, a deafening boom shook the earth. Harry felt as though Uncle Vernon had given him a vicious kick to his chest, slamming him against the cube so hard stars danced before his eyes.

Warmth welled up over his heart and cold bit at his limbs, the weight of his uncle's imaginary foot pressed itself deeper into his skin. Harry couldn't breathe.

Shocked silence settled beneath him. All they could see from the ground were Harry's worn sneakers and crimson streaks slipping down the side of the cube. The old man's gun was still raised, its handler remained tense. His merciless shards of blue bore into the golden project as though he could will himself to see past it, to assess his target's status.

Harry's shallow breaths came too slow and he struggled to bring any oxygen into his system. Tears pricked at his eyes, his hands shook, his lips turned blue. Harry had no idea what had happened. He couldn't figure out why burning, agonizing pain was sluggishly leaking into his system, he couldn't figure out why the weight on his chest only seemed to increase. It all came too fast, too hard, Harry hadn't stood a chance.

The white wearing people had come sprinting back, glasses askew and eyes wide. They gaped at their commander disbelievingly, clip boards and blue prints dropped from slack arms to hit the cement. Even a few of the black suited men remained frozen in place, having never thought their line of work would have led them to this kind of situation.

They had joined to serve their country, not shoot little kids in the chest.

Harry felt his eyes close without his permission and forced a tiny, panicked whimper from his choking throat. His trembling, numb hands scraped across the cube, clutching at the sigils and scratching for the familiar thrum of heat underneath. It still pulsed like a heart beat, still surrounded him from ever corner. The throbbing was comforting in a way, a constant presence even as his mind clouded and blurred. It was the only thing he could feel past the pain now. The heat had left his chest, had abandoned him for the cold that had his teeth chattering.

Thankfully, this didn't last long.

The weight increased one last time, ensuring his chest would not rise again. The cold blew past him along with the pain, only numbness kept to his skin. His breath had ceased, stopping in his clogged throat. His shaking limbs stilled, his mouth went slack.

Harry's heart beat its last and darkness fell over his head. His last sensation was of the vibrating, thick heat that spread over his body like a blanket. Just as it had to bring him here. Was it the cube he was sitting on?

Harry wondered where the cube's power would take him next.

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The old man holstered his gun methodically, his shoulders dropping in satisfaction. The silence was audible, no longer being broken by the uneven gasps of breath coming from atop the cube.

Suits were swarming the area, leading white coats to their stations and pulling officers from the crowd to begin scouring the base for any sign of a break in. They had to know where the bizarre spy had come from and what his organization had planned for the cube. Had there been a leak in information? A turn coat? Perhaps a breach in security they had not noticed that allowed wanderers inside.

"I want a team to analyze the body, we need to know where it came from." The old man commanded, the black suits that made up his entourage nodded in unison and approached the ladder. They were to climb to the top of the cube and remove the body without touching the alien artifact, as it literally _buzzed_ with radiation.

As they did so, however, something happened to the cube. A low humming burrowed into their bones, a deep jumble of syllables and electric nonsense lit the air. The cube flashed white, power jolting through as it did when they held experiments using its energy. The ruined sneakers dangling from the cube jerked and cracked, twisting and crumbling in a horrific manner. Blood poured down at a quicker rate, the white of bone and grey of organ splashing over the sides as even more security, loaded with top-secret weapons, shoved the bystanders back.

"The NBE is reacting to the body." One white coated woman informed the medal bearing man, who has pulled his gun out once more. He didn't acknowledge her, eyeing his approaching team with a dangerous gleam. There was no doubt that he would risk all their lives to get even a vague description of what was going on, and the black suits knew it. They continued to climb, despite the increasing hum, the feeling of hot air blasting over their skin, the blinding flashes shooting across the cube again and again.

The shredded body of the intruder began glowing along with the flashes, it twitched with each jolt of energy. The skin flaked and darkened, the bones folded and warped, the clothes ripped and burned, the organs collapsed and hardened. The glow continued to brighten, the hum grew louder, the heat grew hotter. People were beginning to evacuate now, the tourists already sent away the second they had discovered the intruder.

Instead of the sound of wet slaps and snaps, the breaking body now emitted hisses and whirrs as it continued to warp, now a blaring figure of painful whiteness no one could look at directly. As the happenings grew more intense, only the old man and his black suits remained in their original positions, a squadron of soldiers now giving the cube a very wide circle, their khaki backs against the walls. Everyone else had fled, positive a freak explosion or wave of deadly radiation was going to wipe the secret base off the planet. Only the crucial scientists and guards remained to keep the base's secrets intact through constant monitoring and application at will.

One last wave of pure, buzzing power blazed through the boy and the cube as one, burning the very air. Golden ash burst from the explosion, raining down like fiery snowflakes. Before they touched the ground, they fizzled into nothing.

The black suits were clinging to the ladders for dear life, their heads pressed against the cold wall to shield their eyes from the light. The old man had his gun pointed where he had last fired, but even he had ducked his head. Fear coursed through them, uncertainty and confusion. The cube had been dormant since its discovery, never so much as shifting in its centuries of captivity.

The scientists had long since gotten over their fear of the cube, using it to experiment whenever given the time. They tossed small electronics into a glass box and watched with fascination as they flashed into awareness using their huge, precious toy. Now, the sleeping giant had awoke, and the puny humans were once again reminded of their place. There was complete and utter silence for over three minutes, as they basked in this newfound remembrance.

Finally, the old man cast a sharp glance at the frozen suits. "What does it look like?" He snapped impatiently, and only one looked back. The others were too busy gaping in absolute horror, their skin blanched white against the steel ladder.

"S-sir...it's another NBE...from Earth." He mumbled weakly, and fell off the ladder in a dead faint seconds afterward. In all his years of being a classified agent of Sector Seven, he had never even imagined anything of this kind of threat- abomination. He had never thought the golden cube could affect more than iPods and Androids, he had never considered what it could do to a body.

The two remaining agents remained completely still, not even bothering to check if their comrade had broken a bone or hit his head upon impact with the cement. Their bulging eyes were focused only on the cluster of flickering lights and thin edges sitting upon the cube. It looked nothing like the skinny, youthful intruder that had been in its place not moments before. It looked nothing like a human at all.

"What the hell was that?" The old man scoffed, disbelieving as he sneered up at the two agents. It was clear they were disappointing him, were angering him. It was also clear they were going to be demoted, it was what the man did with all his subordinates afterwards. They should have felt anger and disappointment, they should have tried to recover and give him a better description. They should have done anything else but continue to stare in silence as the metallic bundle let out a faint hum of gears and air.

Then it _moved_, and two more men in black dropped to the ground, leaving the old man alone.

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**This chapter's a bit of a mess, but hopefully the cube made up for a bit of it. **

**Yeah, I can see Sector Seven getting away with murder. Remember when that agent guy claimed he could just lock Sam and Mikaela away 'forever' just because? Too bad the cube's a bit stubborn. :)**


	4. Chapter 3

**Okay guys! I'm pulling a certain bot in early, but since he's a bit of a mess, so is the narration. Yes, I made him digress often on purpose-fried processor and all. A convenient way to go through the exposition, no?****Also, SS didn't interrogate Harry because they're kind of stupid. Panicked and the highest rank there called a pretty awful shot. Remember, most top brass didn't know about this, which meant the sector is almost self-governed.**

**Disclaimer: See PROLOGUE**

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Megatron had gone insane. His logistic system was shot, his processors had melted, his heartdrive was glitching. The decepticon was in terrible condition.

Who wouldn't be? Crashing violently into a planet of organic material and freezing his aching, body to the ground had been painful enough. Apparently not, as the fleshies saw fit to discover him millions of years later and roughly bundle him in a tin box headed for a facility of torture.

Megatron had thought he'd known pain and known it well. His imprisonment in ice had made him jaded and exhausted- surely there was nothing more to be done to him. Then those filthy maggots dropped him onto a platform and set to burning him alive with liquid nitrogen. In an intensity and focus the cold caves had spared him of, they kept even his programs from booting. It was excruciating and constant, a torture Megatron hadn't even considered using on his enemies, it was so unreliable. Even the leader knew he would have said anything to get away from the paralyzing damage.

After promising his vengeance and recognizing humans as the single most disgusting, uneducated, violent creature in all the cosmos, they still left him speechless in the end. They still managed to steal away his hate and leave him even colder inside.

They found the Allspark and they began to experiment on sickly, ruined prototypes.

Created rotten and tormented, the prototypes would scream and scream in anger and fear. The sound would find Megatron no matter what state of mind he was in and never leave his helm. The garbled, mad howls of premature infants dragged from the Allspark only to be tossed back just as quickly in a flash of lights and a pop of electricity. It would never leave him be.

He was a _decepticon_, ambitious, ruthless, proud. Lord Megatron would never have stooped so low as to torture protoforms for amusement or curiosity. To construct armies and raise soldiers was one thing, and a very attractive thing as well, but to poke and snicker at horrific mistakes was beyond him.

Megatron, steaming internally, wracked with hurt and humiliation and planning vengeance with each passing astrosecond heard a sound that stopped him in his tracks. The decepticon leader knew then, without a doubt, that he had lost all sense. For it was simply impossible for him to actually be hearing the cry of a newly activated sparkling.

With the alarming shortage in energy and power upon Cybertron, Megatron hadn't even heard it _there_ in what felt like a billion vorns. Protoforms had been for war, wired into consciousless soldiers who couldn't function past their mission- the obedient, emotionless Soundwave was clear proof of that.

Not for thousands of decacycles had protoforms been for sparklings. Had protoforms been given a true spark and not a program's imitation.

To activate a sentient and fully dependant being with no armor or circuitry for battle and a constant need for specially graded energon was murder. They would starve within the hour, and even if they survived, the sparkling's smooth and incredibly thin plating would be useless against the constant attacks and turmoil of the masses.

Who would condemn a precious child to die with so many others suffering alongside them? No one had the gears to even make the attempt.

And so Megatron concluded he had broken under the torture and was now swimming in delusions. Because if a sparkling couldn't exist on its own planet, it sure as _Primus_ wasn't surviving on this one. Megatron resolutely ignored the weak whine of a distressed sparkling and to his relief it sooned quieted.

He sat in his icy chains and enjoyed the silence until a few white coated insects bolted through his chamber. Their disgusting, fleshy appendages were being waved frantically, and their sticky wet faces were making far too much noise. Fiery fury flickering in his spark chamber, but was dulled as his senses picked up more than slime and shouting.

The white fleshy bags were absolutely _coated_ in the Allspark's energy signature.

It wasn't like when they brought a protoform into existence and watched it cave in on itself. Forcefully yanking all the energy they could get from the unwilling Allspark left them with barely a residue signature. But now, Megatron could practically taste the cube on his glossa.

Dragging his meandering, distracted thoughts together, the leader tried to figure out what the Allspark had decided to do willingly. It certainly wasn't going to gift a spark to a puny, barbaric techological device the humans had. Their primative sciences were one of the reasons the protoforms were ruined, after all.

Gathering his small pocket of energy and pulling up all the programs he had managed to protect from the insects, Megatron let out a very faint wave of energy to brush against the Allspark- part reminder and part inquiry.

He could just barely remember doing this during his occupation as High Lord Protector before the war. It was almost comforting, the way the relic never failed to respond and let an ancient ghost of electricity waft over his form. With that ghost Megatron could detect a few crackling bits of data. It was a fuzzy, unfocused image only partly decoded. The decepticon set to decompressing it eagerly, pleased with having something of interest to investigate.

The process took much longer than it would have in any other situation. The leader was drained and distracted, his programs being forced into action instead of smoothly reading it automatically. Despite his problems, however, Megatron eventually opened it and was left to stare at the image in pure unadulterated shock. Faintly, in the back of his helm, Megatron decided he was getting sick of the feeling.

There, crumpled in what appeared to a small human cell, was unmistakably a sparkling.

It's gleaming, colorless body was unpainted and completely unarmored. Its two tiny arms tapered into five thin servos each, which lay splayed on either side of its frame. Its legs were spindly and long, stripped of most plates and panels parental units usually prepared for the sparkling before its activation.

The frame was flickering and jittering restlessly, wires pulling and rotors spinning constantly. The chest was just a wall of components with a spark chamber glowing steadily in the center. It was thin and curved lightly without the bulk protection and specialized additions gave. The faceplate was really only a vaguely flat oval that pointed to a chin, featureless save for the large set of optics and a miniscule mouth piece. All in all, the sparkling was smaller than one of these insects and held a standard shape.

All in all, it was the most vulnerable and defenseless thing Megatron had ever seen, even after his run in with humans.

Megatron lost a few of his programs in his utter rage and frustration as he understood the situation. The blasted glitching Allspark had decided to create a sparkling in the middle of a primitive human _lab_. A sparkling that didn't have a parental unit to guide its functions and protocol, a fuel source that could provide sparkling grade energon, or enough armor to protect itself from even the impact of tripping over those skinny peds.

The decepticon leader decided it was not, in fact, he who had gone insane, but the world around him. Primus had dropped off the face of the universe, the Allspark was committing indirect murder, and humans had somehow managed to get their filthy paws on one of the greatest mechs to ever gift their puny planet with his presence.

When had he ever thought obtaining that wretched cube had been worth the trouble of _any of this_? Perhaps the maggots' disrespectful treatment of Megatron had managed to knock a bolt back into place since he was finally beginning to question his purpose for being there in the first place.

Megatron would ponder his errors at a later time, however. Right now his processors couldn't run all his data in unison and he needed to focus on the matter at hand. He had a newly activated sparkling to address. A cybertronian infant who had absolutely nothing in the way of guardians and needed constant, specialized and intense care at all times. Something no insect could even aspire to attempt.

He could almost feel frost dripping from his helm as his gears whirred with frustration. How could the decepticon leader assist the tiny cybertronian, no doubt, wasting away like all the cursed protoforms before it while he was trapped in nitrogen and ancient damage?

Megatron thought long and hard, forcing his rusted processors to run at full throttle, putting all his energy into the dilemma at hand. How could he help something when he couldn't even help himself? There was no way Megatron could rely on his decepticons, the filthy cowards were probably scattered throughout the stars with only the snivelling Starscream for guidance. As much as it pained him to say it, he was near useless as well, held captive in his own frame.

Megatron would rather offline than attempt contacting a meatbag to attempt peaceful negotiation and instruction involving the sparkling, and he probably would as soon as they realized he was conscious and moderately able minded.

So it left him only one, wretched choice.

His very spark shrivelled in its chamber as he forced his unwilling circuits to obey his outrageous demand. Truly, this could be the very action that broke the mighty Megatron. With an inperceptable shudder that managed to get to his peds even past the ice, the decepticon leader commed the closest autobot he could access and delivered the information regarding what had happened to him after crash landing, the fate of the imbecile fleshy's optic adjustments, and the location of the worthless Allspark.

It seemed he would have to help those mangy self righteous martyrs find the primative lab himself, which wasn't truly a suprise as it was no secret that Prime was a horrible navigator and all his soldiers were glitching scrap heaps.

Still, that sparkling better survive until the autobots arrived, Megatron just put far too much on the line for anything less than absolute victory on all agendas.

* * *

**And THAT, according to me anyway, is why a certain autobot scum knew so much about Megatron's involvement with the Allspark. What do you think of Harry's design? I did some sketches to get something solid going, he's much more humanoid than most renditions- kinda like iRobot meets a marionette.**

**Also, I should explain that protoforms and sparklings are different on most basic levels. They both require parts, programing, etc. but sparklings need much more of everything and have a spark that needs constant power and stabilizing. Also, because of their complicated...everything...they begin functioning on a very needy level in comparison to protoform insta-useful activation. **


	5. Chapter 4

**Okay, we have the Harry POV chapter! I didn't mean for this one to be so close to Megatron's but some editing was done and it's just as purposefully scrambled as his was. Harry's a kid going through a very traumatic experience, so expect some cluttered paragraphs and drama!**

**Warning: Mildly disturbing imagery!**

**Disclaimer: See PROLOGUE.**

* * *

Harry could never describe how waking up had felt. There were no words in any language to convey the shift, the difference, the sensation. It was a bombardment on his senses, _of_ his senses.

Everything was too loud, echoing so oddly, blipping and popping in ways he had never heard. Everything was bright enough to sear even with his eyes shut. It coated him in an almost tangible blanket of shining white and left far too much visible. He could smell clouds of strong and thick scents he had never smelled, drowning out the air. But Harry didn't need that air.

His eyes tried to shoot open, but something was missing in the instant click of sight. Harry couldn't stop to compare, because so much happened so fast it was impossible to concentrate. He could see _too_ _much_. Harry was blinded by every crack in the ceiling, by the dust collecting in a corner, by a single hair a few feet away, by the mark of oily fingerprints on the wall. A bizarre clicking and whirring filled the air, it only got louder as he focused on it, and it was coming from him. Harry tried to pull himself up, but the floor itself attempted to burn him.

Harry twitched and tried to cry as his senses lit on fire, but a warbling, horrifically inhuman note was the only thing to escape him. It didn't stop no matter how Harry wished for silence, the sound rang in his head and pitched even higher. His whole body seared and blazed with pain, with sensitivity. It was as if Dudley had beaten every inch of him and then threw him on a skillet.

Through the constant barrage, Harry began to notice even more strange and horrid things happening to him in unison. His mind was off, more statements and files than he could ever remember there being. A strange line of liquid numbers and symbols were forever running through his thoughts, almost subconscious in their subtlety.

Perhaps this was why Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia called him a freak, did they know this would happen to him? The keening finally stopped pouring from his mouth, but the clicking and juttering noises of a thousand metal birds never ceased, only picking up speed and intensity as his awareness continued. Fighting through the pain and terror, Harry tried to lift his head, to get off the ground. He was no longer on top of that cube, and he found that deeply upset him. The warmth of a heartbeat under his body was missing and he felt adrift without the sensation of being gripped tight in an intangible embrace.

Had those men knocked him out? Maybe they had tasered him, he heard it hurt really badly and left a person sore. But why didn't they just return him to the Dursleys, where was he? Harry tried to push himself off the ground, but his hands were sensitive and weak in the oddest of ways. It was as if the limb had fallen asleep in it's clumsy, senseless twitching, but the biting at his palms attested that he was not numbed in the slightest.

Scrabbling at a floor that felt compiled of broken glass, Harry forgot about the noise and tried to cry again. No one had ever helped him when he did, least of all the Dursleys, but it was all he could do to express his frustration and fright. Once again, instead of sobs, ringing whines and warbles filled the empty room. And despite the absolutely abstract situation he found himself in, no one came to his aid either.

Finally locking his elbows, Harry forced himself into a sitting position, swaying like a blade of grass in the breeze. The floor roiled unsteadily and his head buzzed distractingly. His arms trembled beneath him and his legs lay uselessly in front of him.

Harry turned his head, catching sight of a small security camera tucked in the corner of the room. Where people watching him? He turned a bit more and realized the wall behind him was smooth black glass. It was like looking through sunglasses, as far as Harry could tell. While he had never worn them, his aunt's eyes were a bit harder to see when she put her designer editions on, blackened and shaded.

Past the glass were two men in white coats, one holding a clipboard and the other a phone. They were both sweating profusely and they're mouths never stopped moving. Still, it was very hard to hear them and Harry couldn't concentrate.

Instead, he twisted as best he could with such precarious balance and reached out to the adults. If not to help fix him, than to explain why he hurt so much. That wasn't too much to ask, was it? His arm wavered weakly and tinny clicking noises riddled his body, but still he ignored it. Waving slowly, Harry saw their eyes dart to his hand and looked down himself.

And Harry froze.

Where he had expected to see pale flesh fingers attached to a bony hand and wrist, perhaps bleeding or burnt, all he saw was silver steel. Instead of scars and callouses from years of labor, he had smooth metal on an almost square palm with five three-jointed fingers that ended with incredibly sharp points.

There was no wrist as far as he could tell, his squarish palm simply ended and a liquid gray pole began. It was tapered, flaring out at the elbow joint into a spearhead point, and his upper arm did much the same, though it was with two evenly spaced poles sprouting from the elbow joint and attaching to his...collar and shoulder?

It was the scariest thing Harry had ever seen in his life, the most alien, unnatural appendage he could ever have imagined. For all that it was shaped more or less the same way, it was far too different, too slender, to thin, too colorless to be human.

What had these people done to him? Was it punishment? Harry knew he had somehow gotten somewhere he shouldn't, but would they really do this to him? Had Harry done this? Was his arm just another thing he had changed with his freakishness, like that teacher's wig?

His whole body was shaking now, and Harry was taking huge gulps of air he didn't need and didn't go anywhere. The numbers in the back of his mind were slowing down, his vision was flickering much akin to an old television. The keening of before was now one solid note that hit a near painful frequency.

Harry dropped his disgusting arm and looked down at himself in horror and disbelief. He didn't have any clothes on, and he didn't need to. His skin, muscle, and bone was gone. Not a freckle or a mole remained, his knobbly knees didn't exist anymore and he was left with fused rods for legs.

This wasn't his body.

His legs were just like his arms, much longer than before and only a bit thicker than his arms. They tapered in a similar manner, spiking where the knees should have been and barely covering a strange joint of dark gray. His thighs were replaced with two poles that spread from the knee to attach to separate parts of his hips, in between these poles were wires thinner than threads and a thousand cables wrapping around themselves. Too thin to completely fill the awful gap between poles, but enough to explain why the gap existed in the first place.

His pelvis and groin area was just a solid silver, upside-down triangle. And Harry wondered for a hysterical moment how he would be able to go to the bathroom. Two shorter steel rods came from the triangle front and back, much like suspenders, and were slanted inward. Longer rods were attached and pulled straight, attaching to his shoulder.

But Harry wasn't staring at his limbs anymore, now he was struggling to remain conscious as he got a good look at his chest.

Gone were his scars and bruises, his skin and bone. No heart or stomach or lungs to speak of. Instead, a mess of gears and chips and wires and cables and whirring objects he had never seen before. He was a monster, worse than Frankenstein. A complete freak, as the Dursleys had feared. It was hideous, the wall of black components always moving and chirping and twitching, like a million tiny beetles all trying to escape at once. It was a wonder nothing fell out.

Higher up was another large triangle, the metal plate so thin he could see the poles running under it, connecting to the shoulders and mirroring his pelvis. In the middle of the triangle was a strange glowing diamond. Or a glass casing for something as bright as a star. What was it?

Probably the battery running his terrifying body.

Harry rolled over, barely registering the blaring pain riddling his body as he shoved his not-knees under himself. The numbers were stuttering now, in the back of his head, blinking at random times. Boxed thoughts fell through his head in a way he was terrified of, all alerts and warnings and programs. He half crawled, half dragged himself to the wall, digging his pointed claws into the steely panel for leverage. Harry needed to run, to escape somehow. He needed to get out of this nightmare, to find someone who could tell him what was going on.

Barely aware of the dents he left behind, Harry climbed to skinny unreliable feet. The feet themselves nothing but rectangular, smooth lined boxes that gave way to five tiny claws and a spiked heel to match. For all that they were horrific, they were useful in finding purchase on the slippery floor.

Once he had his knees safely locked, Harry turned his shivering form toward the glass again. The men had moved. There were now five in the room, shouting from the looks of it, the whites of their eyes gleaming dangerously. They were gesturing angrily at him/

Harry felt a spark of fury circle tentatively around his terror. _Why did you do this to me?_ Harry wanted to scream, he wanted to cry and wail and beat against the glass as hard as he could. Harry wanted them to fix this, he wanted to know how they hurt him so badly, how they warped him so much. How could a human become a monster so quickly?

Harry opened his mouth, wishing to roar as Uncle Vernon did in a true rage, like someone far bigger and far mightier than he could ever be. He wanted those men to listen to him. Without realizing it, Harry stumbled on rubbery legs, toddling as he must have once done as a very small child. His legs crumpled beneath him on the third step, but he had gotten much farther on those long and skinny poles than he thought possible.

Gazing up at the scientist from his slumped position on the ground, he raised a razor fist and slammed it against the glass as hard as he could. _Get me out of here!_ He meant to demand, as loudly and as firmly as possible. However, all that came out was a buzzing clack of grinding gears and popping sparks. The scientists leapt back almost comically, glasses slipping off sweat-slicked noses and clipboards falling from their fingers.

But Harry didn't know if they did anything more, for he spotted his reflection in the glass just as the agony hit his system.

Featureless and blank, smooth and rounded like an egg. His face wasn't even close to human, looked nothing like anything he had seen before. A tiny line of black must have been his lips, or where his mouth was while shut, but that wasn't what held his attention even as he shuddered in pain.

Those two huge, perfectly round circles sitting side by side on his face must have been his eyes. They glowed like flashlights, like the diamond in his chest. Nightmarishly alien, it made something in him jolt, even though he was positive he no longer had a heart.

As the pain from his fist finally peaked after those few seconds of awful recognition, Harry's vision blurred and darkness swept him up yet again. And this time Harry hoped he would die.

* * *

**I think this is the last time in a while his POV cuts with a pass out, so don't worry about repetition.**

**I know some of you were disappointed in the sparkling design but let me remind you this isn't exactly his final form. As noted by Megatron, Harry's missing an awful lot of protective plating- which is why it hurt so much to touch things. He's barely more than a skeleton the Allspark didn't have much to work with. ****Once he's out I'll make sure to give him a good paint job and mobile form.**

**I should also explain Megatron didn't contact him in this scene because he is not only completely exhausted but Harry doesn't have a clue about comms anyway.**


	6. Chapter 5

**Hey guys! We get two POVs in this one. One's a real treat, but the other is just some necessary side dialogue to better explain Harry's situation.**

**Warning! Another F bomb! Anyone noticing a trend?**

**Disclaimer: See PROLOGUE**

* * *

Bumblebee floated listlessly through the black ocean of space, no destination in mind. Quick and cursory scans of vacant planets was all that was left to occupy his processor, and it left him despondent and lonely. The scout found that it was times like these, when no one was around and there was nothing to do, that it hard not to reminisce about the past.

Shifting ever so slightly, Bumblebee kicked at a meteor, letting it drift out of its belt. He remembered a time when all he looked forward to in a cycle was to race through belts like these, hopping and swerving and using his momentum against others. Being a grounder, he could never win, but that didn't mean he hadn't gotten second place on many an occasion.

Watching as the meteor swam slowly out into nothing, Bumblebee almost found himself regretting his actions. Drifting alone and uselessly wasn't something he'd wish on another. But that was an illogical thought, comrades used to tell Bumblebee he was filled with those. But that was before the search began, and everyone scattered to the corners of the universe.

Personally, if anyone ever thought to ask a young and inexperienced scout- which they didn't, Bumblebee didn't think the Allspark was worth this. The cube had been a gift from Primus, an assurance of their survival. So divine, so special, so necessary. However, if this cube was so very blessed, what did it matter if Megatron held it? The autobots wouldn't be any worse off, hungry and struggling as they were. And Megatron had been High Protector, a military mastermind. Such a strategic mech would never compromise the Allspark.

What was the worst that could happen, protoform decepticon reinforcements? That was an outdated threat, compiled on the assurance that armor and framework would never be of short supply. Then again, what did Bumblebee know? Perhaps this search wasn't as ridiculous as he was beginning to believe and his processors were just being corroded by space dust. He would need to check with an autobot officer soon, if he ever did find one.

Just as Bumblebee was going to turn around and begin his search in yet another quadrant, something brushed over his detectors.

The mech froze, sure it was a glitch. What was he going to do if he glitched? There were no medics for years worth of travel and he had been out of contact of _anyone_ for vorns. Would he collapse on a dusty planet, forgotten forever? Would he fall to pieces and scatter through the solar systems? Would he rot and rot and rot until some poor mech mercy-killed him? Would he-

It brushed by again, clearer now, and clearly encrypted for extremely long distance travel.

Immediately, programs springing from the dustiest pockets of his processors, Bumblebee bolted forward with a speed he'd almost forgotten, determined to track down that signal. He buzzed through the belt, weaving past the planets, and rocketed to the center of the system.

By then, the signal was strong enough to decode, and he did so with fervor. Was this a message to regroup for a new strategy? A distress signal from another scout? A request for back up? A message meant for his higher-ups? A decepticon transmission? A ceasefire? An emergency alert? A-

It was the fragging _location of the Allspark_. Buried on a little blue speck of a planet, tailed by Megatron himself; the information flooded through his processor like bright energon.

_-megatroncrash-frozenwasteland-archibaldwittwicky-tinyplanet-alienhuman-exploration-discovery-encodedopticcovers-glasses-locationof-allspark-_

Without missing a beat, Bumblebee turned tail and sped into deep space with enough excitement to overload his system. The search was over, it was time to mobilize.

Letting out his own scout-empowered message alert, he blared the information for all to find. Letting the data ricoche off galaxies carelessly, Bumblebee couldn't care less. What he needed right now was to find an autobot and share all he had learned as swiftly as possible, even if it meant attracting the attention of one or two decepticons in the process.

Confident in his scout-grade memory banks, Bumblebee sped on for cycles in every direction, letting his alert bounce off every star in sight. Sooner or later, someone would have to respond.

Filled with new hope and energy, one of the last sparklings to reach maturity began a new search- a much better one, in his opinion. Bumblebee was determined to deliver his knowledge straight to the top, to the highest ranking commander he could find, even if it took as long as it had to find it.

Thankfully, it only took a decade to find the necessary bots for the recovery mission. To be clear, it had taken Bumblebee seven years to gather his team, and another seven years to trace his steps through the stars. Seven years in which he waited avidly for a response to his explosive exclamations ringing through space.

And respond they had.

_{Designation Jazz contacting scout, affiliation autobot. State your emergency and designation.} _Oh, Bumblebee might have used a bit too much static enthusiasm in his message if they thought he needed immediate assistance, but Bumblebee didn't bother to correct.

_{Designation Bumblebee contacting Jazz, affiliation autobot. I found the Allspark!}_ Bumblebee could dance around that classified information all he wanted, but he knew that the only reason he would need clearance to his officer's location was with that discovery. Jazz would have figured it out anyway. The uncontrolled buzzing of shock and joy clouded the space between them as Jazz registered what Bumblebee had said, and the scout knew he hadn't been the only one with regrets.

They found a surprisingly elite group within the decacycle with none other than Optimus Prime at the helm, his commander-class comm unit able to contact his scattered troops with enviable ease. Hand picked from the platoons were weapon specialist legend Iron Hide and an elusive veteran medic by the designation Ratchet.

With Megatron so close, Bumblebee wasn't able to physically meet the other soldiers chosen for the retrieval. Jazz went back to lead them to the planet with Bumblebee's reliable directions and Prime deployed Bumblebee in a new search as quickly as possible.

Bumblebee had almost refused, his vorns of solitude corrupting much of his scouting protocol. He wanted to see the enviable array of artillery on Iron Hide or lay optics on the very icon of autobots himself, Prime. Better yet, Bumblebee wanted to see a group of allies in one spot, if only to soothe his aching loneliness. But the planet was mercifully tiny and filled with exotic lifeforms to entertain himself with.

Reluctantly, he landed on Earth in search of the glasses scripted with the location of that blasted Allspark. Taking the form of the first technological object of the required mass he could find to aid his mission.

All the while he studied the 'humans' and uploaded those files for his team to study. And all the while, not one of them- not even Ironhide for all his veteran paranoia, questioned where the scrap of data that led them there had come from and why it had been so detailed on the circumstances surrounding Megatron's fate.

* * *

This was so fucked up on so many levels, no one was entirely sure what to address first. Perhaps the most terrifying aspect was one of radioactivity, and the NBE's sudden ability to not only contaminate a human, but to completely reconstruct it. How long has that energy been there, warping their bodies and minds?

How many times had they been in close contact with the alien square? How many times had they tinkered and toyed with that power? It was only dumb luck a whole crowd of personnel hadn't been warped alongside the intruder, and even then the four witnesses were under heavy quarantine.

The tables had turned so suddenly even the lowest ranking scientists felt like they had fallen flat off their feet. No longer was the hulking mass of black alien technology freezing in their warehouse their most dangerous trophy, now the innocent looking golden artifact that had been such fun to experiment with was the true monster.

Or rather, a monster factory. For now they had one of the most hideous and horrific things to ever be in one of their cells, and there was absolutely no protocol to fix it with. No, the only thing they could do was lock it away even deeper underground, in a small warehouse away from anything more vulnerable than cement.

It was coated in enough ice to refreeze Antartica with a private emergency generator that couldn't have come cheap, especially with how fast the arrangements had been made. No human personnel were allowed down there, not that anyone was willing to go. Instead, thirty plastic cameras were placed strategically for constant supervision. Hopefully that was all they ever needed.

Now if only their second problem was so easily shoved under the rug.

What could they do with a not-NBE? A child turned robot? With staring eyes, no heart, and a shriek that sent shivers down their spines? Was it legal to experiment on? No one had come forth seeking the former boy, though they were working to identify what little they had of him from their cameras. Was it moral to suffer it to...live? Function? It wasn't human anymore, wasn't living.

For now, they simply observed, it was all they could do. Monitoring everything machines could chart while the higher ups loomed in their conference rooms with startling silence. Perhaps they were just as confused as the scientists.

The robot was nothing like previous little monsters. Those cellphones cum war machines were up on their feet in seconds and tearing the glass apart with their teeth. Vicious and jabbering to the very end.

But this one was slow and lumbering. It could barely move and twitched and shuddered like an addict going through withdrawal. An abomination. Maybe it felt just as nauseated with its existence as they did.

Those headlights fixed on the parody of a human face had lit up and it looked directly at the operatives working the monitoring systems through the one way glass. It hadn't babbled the way the others had in alien nonsense, no it had been worse. Instead it shrieked and wailed on notes not fit for even a dog's hearing.

Despite so many differences from the other robots, the startling violence remained ever present. Even trembling and unnatural as it was, the once-child stumbled to the humans and attacked the glass without hesitation. While this had proved too much for the clearly malfunctioning and incompatible body, it also proved a great deal about its danger level.

It was one of the reasons many hands-on grunts were demanding the thing simply be destroyed, no one wanted to go near it. So similar to the boy it had once been and yet so alien. Still, the suits were intrigued. The oldest of scientists understood even as it was draped across the NBE, it was only a question of time before Sector Seven began circling in closer on the hideous anomaly shivering in a cell like the beast it was.

It was only a matter of time before it was iced and spliced right beside the NBE1. Such was the curiosity and folly of man.

* * *

**Yeah, it's a short intermission. Don't worry the next chapter is the largest yet. ****I already have it written up and ready to go. Just need to make the one after that so I stay a step ahead.**

**Shout out to my reviewers! Just spoke to a few FF writer friends and they were complaining about flamers. Hated me cause you guys are the best! XD**

**Did anyone guess it was BB who got Megs' message? I thought it would be fun to write from a relatively young autobot perspective.**


	7. Chapter 6

**Hey guys! Man, was this a hard chapter! The whole alien describing totally inhuman things going on is super tough on your noggin! ****On the bright side, we got some more Harry Megatron interaction with a hint of Allspark interference. **

**Harry's going to be a little needy for a bit, by the way, but you guys have been really understanding about his mood swings.**

**Disclaimer: See PROLOGUE**

**UPDATE- Oops! Sorry guys, I accidentally posted the unedited version. I touched it up while I was working on Chapter 8 and forgot to switch out versions. This is the updated version. Pretty small changes, you don't have to reread.**

* * *

The warmth of what seemed like years ago hit him like a sucker punch. Harry bolted upright, a keen bursting from his...mouth. The cube from before, was it still with him? Those heady vibrations rang softly against his body, thrumming like a drum.

The heat seemed so much more intense now, wrapped so snugly around Harry it was a wonder he could move. It burned at the touch, but not in the painful way the cement floor did. The hold deepened, striking him in a place very similar to his heart, but inherently not. Like the center of his being, it felt so strange.  
Squirming uncomfortably, Harry half heartedly tried to move away, he felt so spent. The heat was the only familiar thing in this room. It wasn't even the same one he woke up in, no more glass and the door looked more like a panel in the wall if it weren't for the now clearly spotted gaps.  
Oblivious to Harry's reservations, the warmth reached even deeper, filling him to the brink with its pulse. Despite his dislike, Harry found himself relaxing under the ministrations, soothed by the manipulation of his core. His exhaustion eased, the pain of simply sitting receded, and the gears in his chest whirred all the faster.

The respite was more than welcome, Harry lowered himself back to the ground, taking advantage of the blunted sting. He curled tightly, holding the warmth just as fiercely as it did him. Harry had never felt such comfort from touch, such a total embrace. It was just as startling as his punishment, but it felt so good.

Harry had no way to tell time, but it felt like hours were spent slumped into the cement, soaking in anything that wasn't nightmarish or painful. This was the sensation that had soothed him after his fall from Hoover Dam, the strange attack from atop the cube, and now in this cell. Did Dudley feel this way when Petunia held him? If so, it was just another thing to envy him for.

When Harry felt the presence pull away, he lunged violently to find it, arms outstretched. Newfound motor skill granted by the warmth already so much more useful. Harry didn't want to be alone again. He wanted to be comforted and held as he had never felt before. Even if he didn't know a thing about it, even if it was too close and too far at the same time, he wanted to stay with it.

The presence stilled, heat once more washing over Harry, but it didn't give him anything more. Fear hiked as far as it could even as he nearly purred under the calming invisible hands of the cube. Don't go! Harry tried to shout, a scratching hiss dribbling out instead. The heat intensified, pulling him into what must be a hug, Harry wasn't sure how it felt. Still, he burrowed deeply, perhaps deep enough that it couldn't let go.

Just as suddenly, it dove at his head and yanked so violently Harry screamed. Why was it attacking him? It was so nice, did it think he was a monster too? Out of everyone Harry thought the cube wouldn't be afraid, it had been with him when those people in white had changed him, hadn't it? What had Harry done to deserve this? Was this all because he had ignored the tour guide? Because he had gone somewhere he shouldn't have?

Falling to the ground, Harry cried in betrayal, but the heat remained, washing over him like the warmest tide. The yanking stopped with a dramatic click and Harry whimpered as best he could without any vocal cords. Why had the cube hurt him? Harry had tried to force it to stay with him, was that why it punished him?

With one last squeeze, the cube left him in the tiny room to sob with the body of a hideous robot. Despair railed against him, but Harry curled tightly away. He didn't want to think about it, he didn't want to remember how he looked. Just living seemed so hard and painful, even worse than the most dreadful days of punishment the Dursleys could give him.

Without the soothing of the cube, the cement was digging cruelly into him and every twitch and click was slower and more deliberate. Was the warmth teasing him? It felt unbearable now, after the break from it. Just like when Aunt Petunia gave him a slice of apple after a few days of no food. It certainly didn't fill him up, and Harry just felt all the more hungry after eating the snack.

Harry huddled, wishing for tears when all he could do was cry and shake. It felt so straining and unexpressive, tearless as he was. But even his utter misery couldn't distract him from whatever the cube had done to his head. It was flittering and bright in a way Harry had no way to explain. Almost like a butterfly had awoken inside him and was bringing a fragile new awareness.

Just as Harry become conscious of the whirr of motion going on inside his robotic head, static suddenly popped to full volume.  
Yelping in shock, Harry pressed his hands against where his ears once were, the static was so loud. It buzzed and beeped and chattered endlessly. The butterfly in his head was jittering and flicking everything with a ticklish touch, and those oddly sorted thoughts parted for a new window of forever streaming numbers and symbols to appear.

Just as quickly as it started, the static stopped, but silence did not return to his cell.

_{Designation: Megatron, contacting sparkling. Respond.}_

It rang through his head like a bell, that butterfly's window of information caught something in the air and blinked in triumph. The garbled clicks and growls buzzed in a way that was nowhere near human or replicable. The symbols striking down behind his eyes were jagged and impossible, but he knew they reflected what was speaking into his brain.

_{Designation: Megatron, contacting sparkling. Respond.}_

Harry shouldn't have understood what this thing was saying to him through that blinking window, but he did and it scared him. For all that he had been warped physically, hadn't his own consciousness and self been unaltered? Just how much had changed? This had all started after the heat hurt him. Had he been messed with even more?

_{Designation: Megatron, contacting sparkling. Respond.}_

_Stop it!_ Harry screeched, backing against a wall even as he knew he could run away from the voice. He was trapped in this body, with these voices and pains without any way out. It was suffocating. Once again, his needless intake of air began shallow and Harry's vision blurred momentarily.

The message stopped playing for a while, the window remained still and focused. Harry straightened against the wall and tried to regulate his breathing. Even he was irritated by his own cries, they were pointless and no one ever responded. Harry had made it a point to never sob in front of the Dursleys after being locked away for his noise making without a lick of sympathy for his burnt fingers.

What had Harry done during the worst of his punishments? It was hard to focus through his own panic. The memory was dim, but Harry felt breathing through the pain in his chest and fear in his head was the best technique.

_{Designation: Megatron, contacting sparkling. Communicate through your comm link window.}_ The gibberish that wasn't gibberish sounded softer and slower than before, though no less base and gravelly. Was this a...person? Harry flinched but tried to gather up his bravery. He was put inside a robot and left in a room all by himself, what else could happen to him?

Harry pulled at his butterfly window, which had gotten quite solid after the static dropped. It surged forward and Harry hissed. It was so terrifying, knowing nothing about yourself down to the tiniest detail.

Taking a fortifying breath, Harry wrapped his metallic arms around his pointed shoulders and responded. {W-who are you?}

The format was different, Harry knew that instinctively. Not knowing what else to do, he let his strangely pinging words ring through his head as the corresponding symbols flashed past his eyes. Then they were gone, and the butterfly window that was now nothing like a butterfly window buzzed.

What had Harry done? It was nothing like talking, Harry couldn't even speak English anymore, his mouth just wouldn't move correctly and his brain had no idea how to process the differences. It was bizarre, being able to comprehend something that was now absolutely impossible for him to understand currently.

It took what felt like ten minutes for anything else to happen, but Harry couldn't be sure. The numbers in his head were always moving to a rhythm that wasn't charted and he didn't have a watch. Well, Harry did have a watch, but it wasn't given back to him when those men in white turned him into a robot.

_{Designation: Megatron, contacting sparkling. Use proper comm protocol to communicate directly to me, or your message is public and undirected. What is your designation?}_ This message was longer than the others and didn't make any sense. Who was this person? What was a designation? How was he messaging the public, he wasn't even speaking aloud. Confused, Harry pulled his window again and was prepared for the sudden leap forward. This expecation soothed him more than he expected.

_{What's a designation? Who are you? What's going on?} _Harry was also adjusting to the time it took to get a response, and wasn't waiting in suspense the entire time.

_{Designation: Megatron, contacting sparkling. Your designation is your title by which others call you. My designation is Lord Megatron, as I have already stated for both comm protocol and to direct my message to you without having it slow down for public usage. Mimic my introduction, this is time consuming.}_ The longest message by far, and the voice was now tense and gutteral. He was angry, what had Harry done to make him angry? It seemed like all Harry ever did was make others hate him. First the Dursleys, then the old man, then the cube, and now this person. Lord Megatron...

Was Megatron royalty? It was a very odd name, maybe he was from a faraway country. Where was Harry? It didn't look like Hoover Dam, but neither had the inside of it. Pulling himself away from his daydreams, Harry focused on the message's instructions.  
Mimic his introduction? Was it like how Dudley had to sign into his computer and put someone else's address in before he was able to talk to his friends online? It was worth a shot, so long as Lord Megatron didn't hate him anymore.  
_{D-designation: Megatron, contacting sparkling. Like this?}_

Nothing happened. The message didn't disappear and there was no response no matter how long he waited. Had Harry been abandoned once again? What was wrong? What mistake had he committed this time? Frustration filled him with nausea, he was so confused.  
Wrapped in on himself all the tighter, Harry thought hard about what to do. He didn't want to be alone in the cell, he didn't want this lord to stop talking to him. What could he do?

What did Dudley do exactly? What had Harry done wrong?

Then it hit him. Harry had signed in as Lord Megatron and sent the mail to someone named Sparkling! Maybe Lord Megatron hadn't recieved the message and thus couldn't respond. Hope surged and Harry desperately began to rewrite his message.

_{Designation: Harry, contacting Lord Megatron. Please answer!}_

He sent it successfuly and sank back down to the floor in relief. He prayed the lord would answer him, he hated being alone in the white room. It was scary to be by himself, to face only his own monstrous body without anyone to distract him.

_{Designation: Megatron, contacting sparkling. Correct, our messages will now be private and immediate. What is a Haeri? That isn't a proper designation.}_ Just as the lord said, his message came much more quickly than the last, and it made a funny click in his head, like an alert. Harry let the praise wash over him like a shower after working the flower beds all afternoon, it felt so nice.

Still, Harry had done something wrong. What was wrong with his name? Had he misunderstood what a designation was? Lord Megatron had said it was something others called him. Harry supposed that didn't mean a name, it was literally only what others called him. What was Harry called the most, if not his name?  
Oh, yes. Harry had definitely gotten this wrong.

_{Designation: Freak, contacting Lord Megatron. Sorry, sir! I didn't know a designation is just what others call you.}_

Harry let the window drop and waited. The time stretched again, the pause between answers had increased. What was wrong? Had he gotten his designation wrong again? Maybe he should have used 'Potter' like his teachers did, or 'Boy' like the Dursleys did on good days. Why had Harry used freak?  
Even if it was right, Lord Megatron would now know he was abnormal and was probably ignoring him now. Harry should have lied, even the cube had left him once it had understood how freakish he was.

As Harry slipped into depression, a message blipped across his window.

_{Designation: Megatron, contacting sparkling. Incorrect. Not only is this designation improper, it is completely unacceptable. You are forbidden from using it.}_  
Harry gave an audible yelp, Lord Megatron sounded so angry! Harry had messed up again, he made the only person willing to speak with him disgusted with him. How could Harry fix it?

Megatron was angry about his designation, so how else could he send his messages? Harry was spared from worrying about it, however, when another reply was placed.

_{Designation: Megatron, contacting sparkling. As you are undesignated, I shall give you one to use. Be grateful.}_ Lord Megatron sounded much calmer again, as soft spoken as he can get with such a large voice. Harry relaxed, at least he'd been forgiven. Maybe he could figure out how to contact the cube and that will please it enough to forgive him as well?

Lord Megatron was going to give him a designation, does this mean he's naming Harry? Harry wasn't allowed to use any other name, did this mean he couldn't be Harry anymore? Harry didn't mind not using Harry anymore. No one ever called him Harry before, only teachers during roll call would even mention his name, and he wasn't allowed to respond back past an arm raised.

Harry waited patiently for his new name. He didn't mind using a different designation, but he wasn't so sure he could just forget about his old name. It was the only thing his parents left him, after all. And one of the last things he still had before his punishment. Could Harry use his new name and still consider himself Harry?

He supposed he would find out. The butterfly window clicked and Harry quickly opened the new response. What would Lord Megatron call him?

_{Designation: Megatron, contacting sparkling..._

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**That was a bit mean, huh? XD I already have the next chapter written up, so I've got the name all set up. T****he comm. thing is still in the works (AKA totally making it up as I go along) so try not to call me out on too much, kay? Megatron used a really strong public transmission with the help of his leader class comm. unit to get the word out on the Allspark, by the by.**

**Anyone want to take a guess at what Megatron is going to call Harry?**

**UPDATE- Yeah, I decided Megs should come off a bit cooler at first. But don't worry, he still had his freak out. It was just internalized.**


	8. Chapter 7

**I think I've tortured you guys enough, here's Harry's name. I should mention he's really not going to think of himself as that name in his POVs, and his name is subject to change. I've got a few disagreements in the works for our warring factions, after all.**

**I've also gotten a few questions about Hogwarts and magic. I haven't specified Harry's exact age, but he's younger than eleven. You'll see a bit, but the rest of the HP crew is definitely not going to be a focus in this fic. And no, Harry doesn't have magic anymore. It would have killed him- being a robot and all. Instead, he gets a few Allspark perks.**

**Shout out to those who guessed, it was fun to read! You guys have a way better imagination than me, I loved Genesis and Sparky! Too bad Megs isn't very good at naming things...**

**Disclaimer: See PROLOGUE**

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Megatron sat thoughtfully inside his frozen frame. After a smatter of cycles, he had finally gotten up the energy to contact the lab bound sparkling. The wretched recharge rate he held was more than enough to infuriate him, but with any luck Starscream would be such a horrid surrogate leader the entirety of his decepticons would be in similar shape.

Perhaps it was unwise to wish for an ailing army, but Megatron knew his similarly competitive and ruthless decepticons would never allow a weakling to lead unconditionally. It was one of the greatest differences between his proud warriors and Prime's sappy scrap heaps.

This was irrelevant, though, Megatron would escape his icy prison before any of his troops found him. Whenever he got the chance, Megatron should recruit a few more scouts into his army. Flyers were a boon, but they were also notorious for glitching processors and logistic systems. None would pay enough attention to their surroundings to make a valuable search team.

Speaking of glitching processors, Megatron was getting off track once more. He needed to concentrate on his problem. The problem that was currently isolated from everything but slimy human insects. A good couple of medics would need to be recruited soon, as well, Primus knows the damage those squishy menaces were putting it through.

The sparkling wasn't doing as badly as he thought it would. It was intelligent enough to figure out basic communication with only raw programs and one or two automatic functions. All the sparklings he had seen so long ago had needed further prompting from their parental units and tutorial uploads. Then again, they had been assisted from the moment the Allspark granted them consciousness and had never needed the ability so badly.  
Regardless, it had been a slow process to coach the sparkling into primary protocol. From pure noise to public comm. transmissions, until it finally discovered direct comm. formatting. The danger of public communication in a laboratory was enough to get his gears churning, but the ignorant insects have yet to pick up any of their transmissions.

Megatron was unaccustomed to vulnerability of sparklings, so used to petty insults of his crew and the generally guarded nature of surviving veterans.  
It had accepted him immediately, desperately, with a chattery warble and a clingy note. Megatron knew immediately he could not treat the little spark as he would his troops, even blunt anger had been enough to send it into hysterics. It's core programs must be telling it just how weak and exposed it was to encourage the flighty, needy nature of the bot. No protective parental units, gifted tutorials, armor plating, or nourishment, just a drive to please whatever figure it could identify.

Megatron found he didn't mind the sparkling's fragility as much as he should have, his own rusted protocols at work he supposed. The youngest of his race, a single hope in the bleak face of extinction, and it was calling him Lord Megatron. How could he not find it appealing? For all that the Allspark's glitch had forced heavy loss on his cause, it had also given him something relatively priceless.

Now if only he could scrub the human contamination from the sparkling's heartdrive, he would be content.  
_Freak_, such a primitive word. It had needed a moment to translate, but the obscurity did nothing to ease his temper.  
How dare those insignificant slime bags refer to a sparkling in such a way? A beacon of hope a _freak_? A god among these humans, stronger and smarter than any of them, and they dared refer to it in such a manner?

If Megatron could guarantee the destruction of the entire race, he'd gladly rip out his own spark chamber. What disgusting insolent pigs, truly unaware of how blessed they were to ever lay eyes on either of them. Of how worthless their stinking packs were in comparison to Megatron's power. Of Cybertron's power.  
Megatron had impressed even himself in his self control. He had been straining himself so much lately, the entire ordeal would short him out by the end of it. But he managed to curb his indignant hatred in front of the frail sparkling. It was not the infant's fault it was surrounded by putrid poison. And Megatron had no intention of discouraging the sparkling's dependency on him.

It needed a designation. Something Megatron was both pleased and discomfited to grant.

It was an honor, a huge step in imprinting with a sparkling, and necessary. But it was also an extremely private and paternal process. A declaration of responsibility, a promise to his charge. It would be less troublesome to run about the streets of Cybertron screaming that he was a parental unit.  
Megatron held no such fondness for the tiny cybertronian, he had decided billions of vorns ago he would never complete that particular ceremony. That emotional, weak minded sentiment was what turned his people into autobots. But here he was, with a parentless sparkling in need of a designation.  
Bolstering himself, Megatron conceded that no matter his personal qualms with completing the process himself, it would still need completion. Instead of concerning himself with forgotten ceremony, he looked over the sparkling.

He still had his data bit, and he studied it for a moment. Most names were in relation with physical appearance, but this sparkling was a bare minimum of a bot. Nothing but gears, wires, and a spark chamber in the center. Personality wise, Megatron couldn't tell. These were not regular circumstances and the sparkling was battered and isolated. It left it twitchy and desperate.

Perhaps something akin to Frenzy, he was always excitable. Jitterwing? Stutterstep? Or to honor tradition, a name in relation to his own? Silvertron? Megadrive? He could immortalize the sparkling's impossible creation through Shockspark or Lonelight. However, these were rather long, detailed names, and certainly masculine. A newly sparked sparkling would not only be unable to pronounce it correctly, but would look ridiculous in the meantime.

Megatron knew from experience it was better to have a quiet name and later rename yourself after achieving greatness. That's what Galvatron had done, but Megatron's creators had suffered from dull logistic systems and sought to name him after a grand ancestor far before he could live up to the relation. Prime had been given a considerably easier adolescence before his own renaming. But this had just made him softer in the end, as the far more hardened Megatron had proven.

Finally, Megatron decided. He was still uncomfortable with the task but the designation wasn't half bad. Easy to say, memorable, meaningful, and references to both personality and appearance. Even if it didn't sound quite as imposing as Megatron or Barricade, at least it was better than Haeri or Freak.

Confident, he commed the waiting sparkling quickly. The times between transmissions were worrisome to the attention starved sparkling, but hopefully his pause had not been too stressful. He demanded the sparkling's full attention after all, it should feel blessed to have been named by the leader of his cause

_{Designation: Megatron, contacting sparkling. Your designation is Flickerflit. Use it in place of those false titles and embed it into your memory files.}_  
There was a moment of silence as his message was both received and applied. Megatron didn't mind them. It was still humiliatingly difficult to concentrate and the breaks were near needed. It gave him a moment to regather his drifting programs and components and settle more firmly into the matter at hand.

_{Designation: Harry, contacting Lord Megatron. T-thank you, sir. I'm sorry but what's a Fli-cke-rfl-it? Or a memory bank?}_ The tinny trill would never get old, the flush of disbelief would always wash over him whenever he heard the speech pattern of a sparkling.

Megatron did his best to growl through his frozen helm, how dare the sparkling refuse his name so easily? It should feel blessed to have been considered worth the effort in the first place! He had also completely forgotten the sparkling's cluelessness in every single field, it was so frustrating to have all his handicaps. How quickly could he teach the sparkling if he could just pull up the necessary windows and show the bot how to do it alone?

_{Designation: Megatron, contacting sparkling. Flickerflit is the designation I have given you, it means to flash quickly. You will use it. Your memory bank is one of your core function windows. It should hold your designation among other necessary personal information. The embedding process may be automatic, you have very little stored.}_ Megatron tried to focus on the memory bank search instead of the sparkling's audacity. It was a rather tricky business after all, a core function window. No sparkling should prod around such important and intricate areas without full guidance and supervision, both of which were unavailable.

_{Designation: Flic-ke-rf-lit, contacting Lord Megatron. I'm sorry sir, I can't find it.}_ At least the sparkling had finally accepted Megatron's generosity.

_{Designation: Megatron, contacting Flickerflit. Try to say your designation slowly, use your processor for practice.}_ Still, Flickerflit had to figure out its own name before they could go any further, the confusion and stuttering was slowing down the comm. usage again.

A quiet fell over them as Flickerflit practiced the name. But perhaps the instruction had not been wise. _{Designation: Flickerffflt, contacting Lord Megatron. I'm sorry! I'm trying really hard! And I still can't find the memory bank!}_ The sparkling was panicking again, pronouncing the first part cleanly, but buzzing a slur so badly Megatron could barely recognize the second half.

The distress was bubbling to the top again, were cybertronian infants always so easy to stress? Perhaps lack of nourishment was affecting Flickerflit's processors. That was a worrying thought, how long would the autobots take to get to the cube?

_{Designation: Megatron, contacting Flickerflit. You do not need to find the memory bank, desist. I have decided to shorten your designation to a manageable size. You are just Flicker. What is your current energy level?}_ His message was a bit brisk, but it would hopefully distract the sparkling from its failure. Megatron had been correct in his assumption that longer, more regal designations were simply too much for the new processor. A short blip of a name should fit perfectly well for the time being, and cost much less energy in both stress and articulation until then.

Another long pause came and went as the sparkling no doubt dug around it's own frame in search of the information Megatron required. Hopefully the new designation will have smoothed over the sparkling's functions.  
_{Designation: Flicker, contacting Lord Megatron. High, sir? I think that's what it's telling me. I'm sorry.}_ The designation was said with barely any hesitation left, the beginning and end was a bit choppy, but it was obviously much easier to pronounce and understand.

Why was it apologizing so much? That wasn't sparkling protocol, it encouraged blame and responsibility. Both of which were not beneficial to survival. Another resulting human virus? How much mistreatment could occur within the time period Megatron was out of contact? Wait, high? With a week's worth of energy usage? A sparkling's spark was incredibly unstable, they had no recharge rate for many decacycles. It was the responsibility of the parental unit to resupply energy and stabilize the spark, at this point in time Flicker should be...flickering.

_{Designation: Megatron, contacting Flicker. Incorrect, when were you resupplied? Have the humans interfered with your spark chamber? Respond.} _Megatron might have used too much force in his reply, for Flicker replied immediately, its pitch heightening with panic.

_{Designation: Flicker, contacting Lord Megatron. I'm sorry! I don't think anyone's been inside my cell, but I've been asleep! Maybe I read something wrong, or something.}_

_{Designation: Flicker, contacting Lord Megatron. Please respond!}_

Megatron squashed his irritation over the last rush of a demand, and thought about what had happened. He had jumped to conclusions, there was no way the stupid humans could have figured out their sparks so quickly. They've been studying him for years and haven't even realized his consciousness. The only thing they could do to alter Flicker's spark was either physically destroy it or let it destroy itself through starvation and destabilization, and they were already unintentionally doing the latter.

So what could have given the sparkling energy? Sparkling grade energon had not been used, that was a fact. Had the Allspark assisted? It was frozen in a level all to itself, could the relic truly move past those bonds? If so, Megatron was sorely jealous.

It was then that Megatron remembered Flicker's alarm and tuned back just in time to catch the tail end of a screech. Flicker was no longer using comm. format, but its transmission window was still up and Megatron could hear the whimpers loud and clear. Cursing his wandering attention, Megatron quickly messaged the crying infant.

_{Designation: Megatron, contacting Flicker. Calm down, nothing is going to happen. I was merely contemplating what could have affected your energy levels.}_ Megatron soothed as best he could. It was rather stilted, but it should do.

_{Designation: Flicker, contacting Lord Megatron. Don't leave! There's no one else here, not even the cube! Keep responding, even if it's just to yell at me!}_ Megatron waited for his rage to spike at the audacity of demanding anything from him, but it never came. Did Flicker sound pathetic enough that not even his temper could be roused? Megatron never knew he was capable of mercy.

The cube? Was Flicker still in contact with it? Eagerly, Megatron commed again. {_Designation: Megatron, contacting Flicker. I'm not leaving, desist. What cube are you talking about? Has it touched your spark after creation?}_

Thankfully, Flicker sounded much calmer in his next transmission, though the keen was still present. Megatron could not physically comfort a scared sparkling, and so he ignored it as best he could. _{Designation: Flicker, contacting Megatron. The cube is a giant golden square that feels weird. It feels like it's humming inside my...chest sometimes, if that's what you mean.}_

Well, the Allspark could have a vibrating sensation when closely interacting with a cybertronian's frame. He supposed the cube's virus infested glitch had yet to completely corrode its logistics system if it could still think ahead enough to supply regular nourishment to the sparkling. It was a wonder such direct contact didn't make Flicker's spark burst from the stimulus, so much interaction couldn't be good for a tiny spark. Then again, that would defeat the purpose of contacting Flicker.

_{Designation: Megatron, contacting Flicker. I see. Then the cube had been feeding you enough energy to function regularly.}_ It was more of a statement for Megatron, but he said it to Flicker anyway.

_{Designation: Flicker, contacting Megatron. Is that what it does? It kind of felt like a-}_ It was cut off oddly, and Megatron didn't understand. Hadn't they gone over communication protocol? Had Flicker been experimenting? He waited for the rest of his message once Flicker realized the mistake, but it never came. Instead, the shrieking started again.

_{Designation: Megatron, contacting Flicker. I'm not ignoring you, you didn't finish your response, use proper protocol.}_ He sent quickly, but he still didn't receive a response even as Flicker's cries worsened. Worry tapped down Megatron's frame. What had happened? Had Flicker glitched? Had the sparkling hurt itself?  
Before he could send another message, a public transmission wafted by.

_{W-who are you?...Hello?...W-what are you doing?...P-please don't- Stop!...Don't get any closer! D-don't touch me!...I'm sorry for what I did, okay? Just let me out!...Stop! Stop it!}_

Flicker had left his communication window open while he tried to speak to someone else, Megatron quickly deduced, which had resulted in a public transmission instead of direct verbal contact. Was Flicker being attacked by a human? Anger surged with a new speed, and Megatron roared in his own mind. Where in Primus were those autobots? Where were his decepticons? If they had to prove him wrong, let it be that they would never find him on their own. Were they going to poke and prod Flicker as they did those protoforms? Megatron felt sick, he wondered whether they were going to kill the sparkling with the same pop and flash as they had so many others.

_{That hurts! Leave me alone! I'll be quiet, okay? Stop, don't touch me!}_

_{Designation: Megatron, contacting Flicker. What's going on, what are they doing?}_ Megatron demanded, his whole body straining to move under the cold lockdown. Why wasn't the Allspark doing anything? If it could take enough responsibility to feed the sparkling, than it could save it too.

{_D-designation: F-flicker, contacting Lord Me-egatron. People in weird s-suits are hurting me! Help me!}_ The stutter couldn't mean anything good, but Megatron wasn't sure what the humans were doing. Why were they doing all this in a bare cell? Was it just human cruelty? He couldn't think of any experiments that could be conducted with just 'weird suits'.

The screaming suddenly peaked into a full ringing ping of terror and pain before cutting off abruptly. Megatron's processors stalled and he let a couple unused programs slip through his grasp. The silence was deafening. _{Designation: Megatron, contacting Flicker. Flicker? Respond. Status report, Flicker. What happened? Are you functioning?}_

There was a pause in which Megatron saw not only his entire campaign sink into the sea, but also his race's last hope for survival as well. What had happened to Flicker? Had the humans decided the sparkling was too dangerous and dismantled it? Had there been a system error? Was the base under attack?  
Megatron swore on his own spark that when he finally got out of his prison, he would raze this miserable planet until it was nothing but dust.

_{D-designation: H-Flicker, contacting Lord Megatron. I'm still here...They just came in and a-attacked me...}_ The relief Megatron felt did nothing to quell his anger, and he wondered how he could kill an entire planet in the most painful way possible. How dare those filthy beats not only cage the leader of the decepticons, but attack a harmless sparkling for any purpose.

Their worthless hides will go into their sun.

* * *

**I tried to ease on the cliff hanger, but I needed an opening into more SS heavy stuff. I'll explain what happened to him in the next chap.**

**Notice how Megs isn't using gender specific pronouns for Harry? Genders are kinda vague in the franchise, so I'm gonna try to piece together a theory. **

**I figure it's a matter of sparks. A femme bot has a large spark that is capable of being shared and stabilized. A mech does not. So in times of wealth, with lots of very well fed cybertronians and sparklings, there are lots of femmes being created. And in bad times (such as now), there are little to no bots created capable of having offspring once their reach their adult age.**

**Seeing as Megatron is not a medic with proper scanners, is not in the physical presence of Harry, and Harry is not an adult with a permanently balanced spark, there is no way to tell his gender.**


	9. AUTHOR NOTE- NOT HIATUS NOTICE

**If you have a short attention span (I hate author note chapters too) then just go to the bottom, I'll put the important information in bold.**

I hate to do this to you guys, seriously. But I'm experiencing technical difficulties.

My computer's adapter was damaged a week ago and my computer can no longer charge. So I bought a new on on amazon with express delivery so my story wouldn't be backed up. Didn't think I had to notify anyone since it should have come within three days. Worst mistake ever. Thirty dollars right down the drain.

After a solid week of waiting for my express delivery, I found out there had been a shipping error and I needed to pick it up at the post office. I did and discovered the adapter they sent me not only looked nothing like the picture for the description, it was an entirely different model fit for an entirely different computer!

I've just reported it and hope to get a refund, but until then this story can't be updated. I'm just glade I shut down my computer immediately upon discovering the broken adapter, I have enough juice to type this out since I hate using my phone to write something this long.

**So, long, whiny story short- Until I get that new computer adapter, I can't write. So this story is on hold until then. It's not a hiatus notice, I just wanted to let you guys know**. You've all been the best and I feel really bad about leaving you in the dark this long.

Thanks for the patience, I'll post the next chapter as soon as possible!


	10. Chapter 8

**I'm keeping my notice just in case deleting it erases the reviews written for that post. **

**I got my adapter! It took a week to get my refund and new adapter (which was NOT express delivery and was delivered within four days, which I find kind of ironic), but it only took two days to write up the chapter after this so that's something. **

**Shout out to all my amazing reviewers, you guys have been so patient and supportive, I seriously brag about you to my friends all the time. So sorry for the delay, this is a relatively small chapter, but the one afterward is the biggest yet!**

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**Because of the adapter, a lot of reviews that need responses were backed up, so this is going to be a big author note. I've got a lot to address.**

**Ahem.**

**Pri3y- Yes, Harry looks sort of like a half stripped I, Robot robot. When someone finally gives him some real armor and upgrades, he will look a bit different. I'm still thinking about paint and body types.**

**Kai19- Megatron decided to ignore his own misgivings on giving Harry a long name anyway. Couldn't help himself. He ended up regretting it when Harry had no idea how to fully pronounce it, haha!**

**SleepyMangaHead- While Harry is going to remain a boy (or mech, I guess) due the Allspark needing to conserve the energy necessary to construct the rest of his body during creation, and then to both intervene later on and remain active under duress, that fact is kind of inconsequential considering he's not to going hit maturity for another thousand years and thus be completely identifiable.**

**Penny is wise- No, Megatron does not know Flicker was once human. He thinks the Allspark glitched out and managed to create a sparkling- and because of the lack of raw materials created a sparkling that is completely unequipped with most essentials. He's pretty much blaming any of Harry's problems with functioning on the Allspark and lack of parental units.**

**Nexia Jazilynn Prime- Thank you for taking the time to explain the spark system to me, seems pretty consistent with most universes. However, I gotta bend to Micheal Bay's questionable terms and keep things mostly reliant on the Allspark to ensure it remains important to the plot. So I am sticking to my theory for this story. The Allspark is their only hope for the continuation of their race because of the extremely reduced population and severe famine on their totaled planet.**

**I'm not answering anything directly plot related. You'll just have to wait and see.**

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**I'm writing this chapter from the perspective of another SS agent. I thought it would be fun to paint him in a sort of protagonist light, but have the previous context make him a pretty awful villain. It also helps explain what happened to poor Harry.**

**WARNING: For some reason all my Sector Seven agents end up potty mouths, this guy is no exception.**

**DISCLAIMER: See PROLOGUE.**

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Frank's grandfather would never forgive him if he died carrying out this incredibly idiotic order. Hell, Frank would never forgive _himself_ if he died carrying out this incredibly idiotic order. He had been against the idea from the start and had caved under threat of insubordinace charges. What the hell did the top brass want with such a monster anyway?

The morons didn't have a shred of sympathy for the two agents who actually had to gather the information themselves, all they cared about was results. Frank had known that getting into SS, but he had never thought such callousness could ever do him harm, he was on their side after all. He should have seen this coming, from the second they gave him a slimy smile and a badge he couldn't legally use.

Frank never thought he would literally be sacrificed, either. Not when he was a government agent, not when he was living in America as a non-virginal man. That kinda shit only lived in fairy tales and tribal islands, or so he had thought. But this was definitely a case of human sacrifice, because if sticking an important general in quarantine after he _existed_ near the objective didn't mean we-think-this-is-ridiculously-deadly, he didn't know what was. If Frank hadn't already seen other SS agents tear cops apart, he would be calling to report his violated human rights in a heartbeat.

Three twitchy little scientists darted into the room, carting their equipment like it was their life savings. Frank could tell immediately they were part of the newest project, the loose skin of hastily dropped weight, the bags under their eyes, the green tint to their skin, it was obvious. No one wanted to be a part of this.

Opening the cases, one of the scientists turned to Frank. "This is your armored suit. It's been tested and approved for this exercise. Now stand still." The clipped, cold tone was not a mark of his stress, it was rather normal in the secret base. Frank understood it well, he matched it easily.

Frank did as he was told and didn't move a muscle as the scientists pulled out a heavy helmet that covered everything to his shoulders neck in thick armor and shoved it onto his head. Another was clipping two sides of an armored chest to his uniform, encasing him like a plastic egg. It was stiff and weighed him down, for a brief moment he wondered whether they were actually feeding him to the mechanical demon.

The armor was followed by equally padded pants, and ridiculously thick gloves and boots. There was no way Frank could hold a weapon, he could barely wiggle his fingers. Perhaps sensing his incredulous glare past the steely visor of the helmet, The lead scientist held out a significantly smaller case.

"Most of the testing includes physical attacks, but you are to use these at least once." And with that, he attacked what looked like a cattle prod to a latch on his wrist and a small knife to the other.

"Anything else?" Frank asked, admittedly stalling his entrance. He regretted his choice to enter SS with all his heart now, how could he have ever thought entering such a tightly secure and silent sector could have been a road to success?

"If it cuts through the armor, back off." Well that was just cruel, Frank hadn't thought the scientists' hateful demeanor ran so far as to mock him in what might be his final moments. At least he had signed up as a guard and not a geek, but then again, the geeks were staying behind the thick protective wall.

Not bothering to respond to the dry taunt, he pulled himself together and began his shaky trek to the room. He had only seen the abomination once, in the file alongside his orders. It had haunted his nightmares for the three days it took to organize the procedure. Searing bright circles placed side by side on what could barely be called a face. Spiny thin arms and legs stuck out and ended in deadly claws. It looked as though it had been made to kill, and perhaps it was.

Half way down the hallway, he met with his partner in this suicide mission. Frank couldn't see the other man's face through his helmet, but he took comfort in the fact that the fellow agent was equally strong framed and well built. Maybe they stood a chance. They didn't say anything to each other, they both knew they were facing the entire sector's biggest nightmare. Well, that wasn't exactly true. The NBE buried deep underground was the nightmare, one that was guaranteed to rot there for eternity, this was just the result.

They reached the door, plated with steel and covered in locks and alarms. Swallowing heavily, Frank ignored the sweat beading down his neck and began unlocking the door. The hallway behind them locked itself automatically, keeping them isolated even after the door was opened. Just in case it killed them both quickly enough to make a break for it.

Frank almost leapt back as the door clicked open, already he could hear the thing inside. The constant clicking and humming was also in the report, but it made it no less creepy. Goosebumps rose as they both stepped inside after the unspoken agreed upon signal was given. The sight, even shaded by his visor, was one he'll never get out of his head.

The robot was tucked in a corner, silver knees drawn up with its arms as if it was mimicking the child it used to be. The glowing diamond in the center of its chest half hidden from view caught his eye, but his attention was quickly snatched by the wickedly sharp claws on both its hands and feet, if he could call them that.

Short and nimble, disturbingly alike to fingers and toes, but sharp enough to leave scrapes and scratches against the cement floor. Frank took a shaky step forward right alongside his partner.

It was twisting and squirming in a manner that looked uncomfortable, giving whines and chirps at random times. Was it speaking to itself? He had seen the tiny robots the box had created just like every other agent, why did they all babble so quickly?

Taking in a fortifying breath, Frank took another step forward and raised his hand. An apology went out to his grandfather and dog, he would be leaving them without a reason to even justify his existence. Why hadn't he just become a doctor like his mother had wanted? So what if the hours sucked? He wouldn't be about to smack a killing machine like a stupid monkey.

Before he had even begun to make it half way across the room, the thing stiffened and twisted around. Those horrifically bright circles focusing with a clarity that gave him chills. The tiny slot of a mouth opened wide, and half audible jabbering filtered through. Was it threatening them? Frank took another step, his partner mirroring him.

The robot scrabbled to its feet, and Frank winced as those clawed toes raked against the cement loudly as it tried to gain purchase. As was reported, it had poor motor skills. Ugh, why hadn't anyone destroyed this thing yet? It was almost nauseating to look at, it shouldn't exist. So wrong.

He took another step and the creature threw out its arms and gave a rapid ping, leaning against the wall. Frank flinched away, but nothing happened. No spikes flew from its palms, it didn't throw itself at him, just remained swinging its limbs around like it had epilepsy.

A glance told him his silent partner hadn't flinched, poor guy might have just shut down from the terror. Still, he was close enough to give the thing a glancing blow, which he did without hesitation. Frank admired his bravery, watching his partner's glove in case it suddenly disintegrated from touching the thing. It didn't, and Frank moved forward for his own attack.

The monster had fallen back to the floor from the smack, but was already on its knees, warbling like a dog whistle. Frank brought his fist down on its shoulder, sending it flying away from the wall. Carefully, as the instructions had told him, he watched the robot's response.

It fell to the floor with another whistle, claws wrapped around its upper torso, perhaps to protect it. Were upper attacks more powerful than lower aimed attacks? There wasn't a dent where he placed the blow, so the robot was strong under pressure.

Finished with his assessment, he moved forward to snatch an arm and give it a tug, swinging the shockingly light monster into the wall. It still hadn't attacked, unless the painfully high pitched sounds it was emitting counted. The joint also looked completely unharmed, from what he could see with the robot clutching at it. Was it inspecting itself as well? He didn't want to dwell on that.

His partner approached and pinned it to the wall by what might have been its neck. It spluttered and scratched at his gloved hands, claws scraping right through the paint and cloth and striking against the armor. Frank didn't want to know what it could do with flesh and bone, and began striking at pinpoint areas before the other man began to panic.

The gears and wires were surprisingly durable, and the glowing diamond in its chest only blinked once after a solid blow. The neck was obviously not very vulnerable, but the head looked shockingly fragile. The face was fucking terrifying, but at the back of the head was just black and blinking lights, like what he'd picture the inside of a computer to look like. He didn't dare hit it there, and backed off.

His partner did the same, dropping the robot to slump against the ground with another shriek. A single attack to cut deep and pure physical attacks only make it's sound response louder. A scary combination. Were they even fazing it? A single look was all it took to communicate with his partner that it was time to use their tools before finally retreating.

Pulling the prod from where it was clipped to the side of his wrist, he jabbed it quickly against the monster. The cattle prod made a dull buzz and the robot keened at a level that could have shattered his visor. He let the prod drop and examined where he'd landed it.  
A black scorch mark was burnt onto the silver shoulder, above the diamond, and Frank knew it was sensitive to electricity. How ironic, were robots usually vulnerable to their own energy? Then again, he had no idea what this thing ran on, it could be radioactive.

The robot suddenly lunged, taking him off guard, and smacked the prod out of his hand with a force it hadn't possessed before. Satisfied with his discovery and not ready to test its aggression, he leapt away and let the other man take a couple slashes with the knife.

It was completely ineffective, even less so than the punches. Sliding harmlessly against the chest and chipping after straight stabs. The freaky thing was curled up in a ball now, hissing like a motor. Frank shuddered and snatched up his prod. They had completed their objective with only a ruined glove to prove it. Frank hadn't even thought to pray for such good results the night before.

It seemed they both decided not to look that gift horse in the mouth, because with a twitch of his head, they shared another glance of understanding. After five seconds of silence, both men were barreling out of the room as though their lives depended on it. It probably did. The door slid shut behind them, and the robot hadn't followed. A miracle, pure and simple.

Typing in the password for the hallway door, they were allowed back into the base and into the arms of curious scientists. Frank tossed the prod to the ground, yanked his helmet off, and took a deep breath of fresh air. God, that had been awful. He must have bumped off a good ten years of his life.

"So?" The scientists snapped impatiently, as Frank sank to the floor with a shiver.

"Give me a damn minute." He growled right back, tossing his knife away too, letting it drop to the floor carelessly. This was apparently the wrong thing to say as everyone else pursed their lips and narrowed their eyes as if he had cursed out their mothers. Good lord, had he managed to saddle himself with the types of guys who couldn't handle anything but rulebook procedures?

"Do I need to remind you of how important this is? Sector Seven needs to know just how dangerous this thing is! How can we hope to address this properly if we can't even give it a detailed profile? You were sent in there to evaluate its danger level and you better damn well have evaluated it!" It was the lead scientist again, his face drawn into a deep scowl.

Frank surged to his feet and yanked the scientist off his feet by the collar of his stupid lab coat. Ignoring the spluttered protests of the others, he looked the other man in the eye and spat. "Just nuke the goddamned thing already! Who the hell cares if it's good at deflecting knives or bad at dodging? It shouldn't even be hear in the first place, you arrogant wannabe gods!"

The scientist grabbed his suit and pulled himself even closer, much to Frank's surprise, eyes gleaming. "Was it? Vulnerable to quick attacks? Difficult to harm with steel?" Frank dropped the scientist in disgust, pulling the rest of his suit off and throwing them at the others, hard. Why had he even bothered? The adrenaline from his task must be messing with his brain if Frank thought for even a second that a low ranked lab rat like him could have made an ounce of a difference with these psychos.

"Bad with dodging, bad with attacks, bad with balance. Very vulnerable to shocks, mildly affected by physical force, and completely unaffected by knives. The claws were sharp enough to rip through the gloves down to the metal." Frank rattled off obediently, stalking out of the room without looking back. If he stayed in that room any longer he was going to deck the pack of emotionless dicks. What did they need his personal experience for anyway? The camera had been on the entire time, they had the recording. So greedy, what did they think they'd miss otherwise?

He could already hear them chattering to each other in hushed tones, but he didn't care what they were talking about. All he cared about was getting out of SS. This place was way more dangerous than he thought it was going to be, and there was no way in hell Frank was going to just sit in the ticking time bomb and wait for the monsters to kill everyone from within. Jurassic Park had taught him enough.

Without any direct orders, he could request a transfer right? It's not like they could keep him inside the sector for the rest of his career just to keep him silent, right?

Right?

* * *

**See? He gets his punishment for hurting poor Harry in the end. I'll switch to Harry's perspective for the effects of the attack in the next chapter.**

**In case anyone was confused, SS is trying to decide whether or not Harry can be experimented on. The whole was-once-human thing has them wondering if they should just destroy him. **

**I'd like to thank everyone for their responses to the notice. Seriously, I love writing for you all. I think I'm making my author friends jealous with such great reviewers. XD**


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